


Advisedly, Soberly, and in the fear of the Light

by epiphanaea (Epiphanaea)



Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Post-Wedding, feelings are complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:29:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25059277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Epiphanaea/pseuds/epiphanaea
Summary: Some reactions and a few mundane details, following a hasty marriage.
Relationships: Nynaeve al'Meara/Lan Mandragoran
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Advisedly, Soberly, and in the fear of the Light

“So you're what all the fuss is about.”

The woman eyeing Lan appraisingly was fair of coloring and average in height, and from her expression, not much impressed with what she saw.

“Fuss?” he inquired mildly. They were alone in the antechamber to the Aes Sedai's apartments in the palace. There were a number of comfortable looking chairs, but he stood, though he managed not to pace. He'd bathed and changed already, but Nynaeve was still at her bath. Tending to her hair, most likely. After tonight, he might -

“The man that Nynaeve's been pining over,” the woman said. “Not that she's ever said as much, but she's not very good at hiding what she's feeling.”

No, she was not.

“You're not what I expected.”

Lan made no comment to that.

“Thought you'd be prettier,” the woman said, shrugging her shoulders in a way she clearly intended to look offhanded – as if she were not trying to provoke him. “Considering how she loses her wits over pretty men.”

She would have to try harder than that; he'd had a lifetime of being needled by men – and no few women - who needed to prove they weren't intimidated.

“You are Elayne's Warder?” he asked, his voice still without inflection. “Birgitte?”

She tensed like a rabbit that had seen the shadow of a hawk, before saying very carefully, “I am.”

That surprised him; he had not expected the woman Nynaeve described to him to care at all what anyone thought of her bonding – and it was a sharp change from her attitude of just moments before. But there Birgitte stood, looking ready to flee – or reach for a weapon – waiting for him to swoop.

He didn't disapprove of Elayne's choice of Warder, or approve yet, either. Nynaeve seemed to think she was fit for her role, and Nynaeve was . . . not easily impressed. Birgitte held herself like someone who knew her own strength, for all her prodding at him. Time would tell.

The moment stretched; Birgitte relaxed by wary increments, eventually heaving a great sigh of apparent relief.

Lan began to suspect that he was missing some crucial piece of information. Nynaeve's description of the woman, the nervous way she'd glossed over the details of their meeting, had been odd, too, in hindsight. He'd thought Nynaeve had been trying to hide how much danger they'd all been in, as she always did – and which he gathered had been considerable, as it seemed it always was. He thanked the Light for the thousandth time that day that she was even still alive.

“I suppose you'll do,” Birgitte allowed, though with somewhat less bluster than she had begun. “You look like you know which end of that sword is which, at least.”

Lan couldn't help giving her a very flat look at that, which she returned with bland equanimity.

“I've managed not to cut off my own feet so far,” he said dryly.

Humor was a strange sensation, like pins and needles in a deadened limb.

“Good,” Birgitte said, “You're going to need both feet and the sword and whatever wits you've got. I don't know what took you so bloody long, but now you're here I expect you to keep that girl alive, and yourself, too.”

Lan could only stare; what _took him so long_?

But she wasn't finished. “And just so we're clear,” Birgitte went on, stepping right up to him – a thing few men and even fewer women had ever been able to do without flinching, “Nynaeve and I, we've fought together. Bled together. Very nearly died together. You hurt that girl – you so much as flaming _think_ of running off on her again, ever – and I'll track you down, and that sword won't save you.”

The baffling thing was, he believed her. She'd have to be very clever or very lucky to find him when he did not want to be found, much less do him injury, but she would make a respectable effort. And, he thought, it would be a mistake to underestimate her.

“I have no intention of leaving Nynaeve,” Lan said. “Ever.”

She eyed him sharply; he didn't think he'd been so thoroughly weighed and measured since Moiraine first introduced him to Suian Sanche.

Except, perhaps, by Nynaeve – but that had been entirely different, from the very start.

Light, she was his wife. Nynaeve, his. El'Nynaeve ti al'Meara Mandragoran. It didn't seem real.

Birgitte saw something in his face that made hers soften. She patted his arm, and when he gave her only a very nonplussed look in response, her lips quirked to one side. “You'll do,” she said again.

***

“Are you – ah, good, you're alone.”

Vandene shut the door of the bathing chamber behind her, peered around the room, found a stool, and dragged it over beside the tub in which Nynaeve was immersed. “I was hoping I could catch you for a little chat. Would you like help with your hair? It's lovely, so long.”

“Thank you,” Nynaeve said, in a strangled tone, “but no.” A little chat? _Now?_ “Vandene, I don't know if anyone's told you, but I -”

“You were married this afternoon,” Vandene finished for her. “Yes, I know. Elayne told us, and I recognized dear Moiraine's Warder, of course – your Warder, now, that is,” she amended hastily, perhaps in response to Nynaeve's incredulous glare.

“Then you'll understand,” Nynaeve said between gritted teeth, “why I'd like some time to myself this evening. Surely Elayne can help you with – whatever it is.”

“Oh, I see, you've misunderstood,” Vandene went on, and patted Nynaeve's hand where it gripped the edge of the tub. Nynaeve snatched her hand back, and crossed her arms over her breasts for good measure. “No, I don't need Nynaeve Sedai to make a decision. I thought Nynaeve al'Meara might be in need of someone to talk to. A . . more experienced woman.”

Nynaeve thought her face might well catch fire, and couldn't have said if it was in mortification or outrage. “I was the Wisdom of my village, before coming to the Tower,” she said, with as much dignity as she could muster. “The Wisdom is the village healer. And _midwife._ I am entirely prepared, thank you.”

“That's very well,” Vandene said, with pursed lips, “and a good deal better than complete ignorance, but – I am correct in thinking you are a maiden?”

“I don't see what business of yours that can possibly be,” Nynaeve growled.

Vandene sighed. “It really isn't, but I'm afraid there's no one else who's likely to be any help to you. The rest are all either too prim to talk of such things or have no better idea than you do – unless you'd like Tylin's advice? No? I thought not.”

Nynaeve grimaced and swallowed as if she'd tasted something foul; she'd had some of Tylin's vile  _advice_ already, though only briefly, thank the Light.

“Now,” Vandene went on, “I'm sure you know of herbs and poultices and the like to keep a man's seed from taking root, but such things are unreliable, and an Aes Sedai has no need of them. A simple weave of air, appropriately placed, is much better, and since it isn't Healing, just a specialized sort of shield, you can weave it yourself. Shall I show you?”

“I don't -” Nynaeve swallowed again, and cleared her throat. The bath water was unpleasantly warm, though it had been comfortable enough a few moments ago. Now she felt like she was being cooked.

And the preventatives she'd dispensed as Wisdom were certainly  _not_ unreliable - not infallible, of course, but not  _unreliable_ . 

“I'd be happy to get with child,” Nynaeve managed to say.

Vandene pursed her lips. “Is that wise?”

“Why shouldn't it be?” Nynaeve snapped.

Vandene merely folded her hands in her lap and raised a brow.

Nynaeve shut her eyes. She took deep, calming breaths.

“I don't mean forever, child,” Vandene said, maddeningly gently. “But until we've used the Bowl and returned to Salidar, yes? Being with child interferes with a woman's ability to channel, even very early, sometimes.”

She was right.

“I won't wait for the Last Battle to be won,” Nynaeve said, eyes still screwed shut, throat tight.

“You'll do as you please whenever you please.” Vandene's tone was meant to be soothing, Nynaeve was sure; being soothed only made her want to snarl. “I'm offering knowledge, that is all.”

She was, and only a fool would refuse it. Nynaeve knew that. It still galled to admit it.

“I would like to see the weave,” Nynaeve said, and made herself add, in a half-choked grumble, “Thank you.”

Vandene, bless her, didn't acknowledge the thanks at all. She embraced the Source. “You begin like so -”

***

“I envy her,” Elayne blurted out. They sat on the bed they'd begun to share, Aviendha behind her, combing fragrant oil through Elayne's damp hair.

The room beside theirs was silent; Nynaeve had no trouble weaving the wards needed to capture sound, now. Her block was gone, she'd married the man she loved, and – thanks to Elayne! - she had the respect of the other Aes Sedai. Just like that. Elayne should be happy for her friend, and she _was,_ truly. That didn't stop her wanting to wail and stomp her feet at the unfairness of it.

The comb had paused in Aviendha's hand; now it resumed. “As do I,” Aviendha confessed.

“But you -” Elayne bit the words off, but it was too late to salvage the assumption Aviendha had apparently made – that Elayne envied Nynaeve's _marriage._

Which she did. That was just . . . secondary.

“But I?”

Elayne thought she might well die of her embarrassment, but was she not meant to be forging a bond with this woman? Honesty here would serve that.

Or, it would serve to convince Aviendha that Elayne was a shameless, silly girl unworthy to be her sister.

“But you have lain with a man,” Elayne said. _With Rand._

Aviendha's hands paused in her hair again; then she set the comb aside with a clink, and stood in a rustle of skirts. The mattress bounced with her steps. Elayne felt her stomach going hollow; was she leaving? Was she so disgusted with Elayne that she couldn't remain in the room?

Aviendha sat, legs crossed, in front of Elayne. She took both Elayne's hands in her own, which for an Aiel, was a gesture of great intimacy. “I will tell you anything you ask,” Aviendha said.

“That isn't -” Elayne cut off at the crack in her voice, and sniffled. Light, was she _crying?_ “That won't be necessary, thank you. Oh, I don't mean to sound like that, Aviendha! Thank you, truly. But it isn't -” She again struggled for the words.

“I have great _toh_ to you yet,” Aviendha said, growing distressed. “You may say I do not, but I know that I do.”

“Oh, blood and bloody ashes!” Elayne blurted out, and yanked one of her hands free of Aviendha's so that she could wipe her nose on the sleeve of her nightgown. “I'm not trying to make you feel guilty! This isn't about Rand!”

Aviendha blinked. “You wish to lay with some other man?”

“What? No!” Elayne exclaimed.

“I do not understand,” Aviendha admitted, frowning in a way that still looked as if she thought this was all her fault.

“I just -” Elayne had to draw in a breath to steel herself; how ridiculous was _that?_ “I just feel like such a child; before, at least Nynaeve was a maiden too, but now it's just me. Just one more way I'm not quite what I should be.”

Aviendha's frown deepened. “I thought – Nynaeve al'Meara led me to believe that wetlanders do not take lovers outside of marriage. Not if they are honorable.”

“Nynaeve al'Meara grew up in a village with more sheep than people on the far side of nowhere,” Elayne snapped, then winced. “Please never tell her I said that.”

“Of course,” Aviendha agreed. “I will always keep your secrets.”

“And I will keep yours,” Elayne agreed, summoning a watery smile and squeezing Aviendha's hand. She sighed. “I feel so – so petty and lecherous and small and I hate it.”

“You are none of those things!” Aviendha said fiercely, squeezing Elayne's hand back hard enough to make her joints creak. She sniffed. “You say this is not about Rand al'Thor, but if you wished for him to be your lover and he refused, then he is even more a fool than I had believed.”

“I didn't ask him,” Elayne said. “I wouldn't know _how_ to ask that. I just -” She stopped, and swallowed, and finally asked in a very small voice. “It was – nice?”

Aviendha studied her a long moment before answering. When she did, it was in a conspiratorial hush, and she leaned in close despite that they were alone in the room. “There was little pain,” Aviendha said. “Not so much as some like to boast, as though laying with a man were a battle they had won - though perhaps those I have heard speak so merely had clumsy, careless lovers.”

“Oh,” Elayne said, and resisted the urge to deny that she'd been worried about any such thing. “That's good to – oh burn a bloody goat, just tell me. Tell me everything.”

***

“So. That's what I'll be doing,” Nynaeve concluded firmly, hands clasped in front of her, trying very hard not to let Lan see how they wanted to shake. She resisted the urge to babble that she wanted his babies, that she hated the idea of any kind of barrier between them, that responsibility and practicality could go hang.

But if he was disappointed, she thought she might just die.

Just the hint of a wry smile graced his lips. “I should have known you would think of everything,” he said, and there was warmth in the words.

Nynaeve let out a relieved sigh. For just a moment, her muscles all felt like warm molasses; nervous tension returned almost immediately, but it was more . . . pleasant . . . now.

Lan fished something out of his belt pouch, and held it up for her to see – a small folded paper packet, with a rose drawn on it, of all things. A slightly odd looking rose. Sort of squashed into an oval, and – oh. She felt her cheeks heating.

“I might have saved the manservant who attended my bath some trouble,” Lan said.

She'd kept a supply of what she thought that was, as Wisdom. It wasn't wise to use certain herbs with a babe at the breast, but it was even less wise to conceive another right away. She'd understood, however, that a husband was generally less than fond of the things - as if having to wear a sheath were anything compared to childbearing and childbirth!

But Lan had been willing to use one on their wedding night.

“You,” Nynaeve said, in a voice that wobbled, “are going to believe you are worthy of every happiness in the world, Lan Mandragoran, if I have to beat it into you. Now get over here and take this dress off me.”


End file.
